Black Coat
by Hermione Prime
Summary: Seized by Voldemort at the end of his fifth year, in the Department of Mysteries, Harry was transformed into a cat and sent tumbling through time. Armed with nothing except teeth and claws, Harry has to handle the threat posed by Tom Riddle and his teenage followers. He intends to stop the genius young Dark Lord and sabotage him at every turn...in the form of a cat. Sounds simple?
1. Cat Borne

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. **

**Congratulations, my dear new readers, you have found my newest story, Black Coat. I look forward to sharing this with you, and I look forward to hearing your opinions. With each chapter, I make it my aim to improve this, and I do hope you will help me.**

**This aside, I do not see why I should waste any more of your time. Read ahead if you want, and if you can, please leave a review! It will be much appreciated. **

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He had seen his Dogfather falling, eyes blank, through the veil, thrust through the damn veil by a few uttered spells from the Dark Lord's most infamous female luitenent.

He could not accept Sirius, the only adult, _parental_ figure in his life, as simply _dead_. The word echoed horribly in his mind. He could not believe it. Sirius Black _wasn't_ dead. And yet, he was...  
It was real.

Harry had wanted to rush after him, only to be restrained by Lupin's arms. He had fought and struggled with his old professor with every bit of his strength, but…

It had not been enough. It was too late. Sirius was gone. Vanished, as if he had never existed.

And that was why Harry was pursuing his murderess. He would _kill_ her, he vowed he would; pay her back for taking away Sirius. Bellatrix had raced into another chamber – and he had followed, hot on her heels.

"Come out, come out, little Harry!" she called, in her mock baby voice, which echoed off the polished marble floors. "Did you come to avenge the death of my dear cousin? Sirius Black… name rings a bell, doesn't it? Ah, did you _love_ him?"

Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never experienced before; he flung himself out from behind the fountain and cried, _"Crucio!"_

Bellatrix screamed in astonishment. The sound was music to Harry's ears. The spell had knocked her clean off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain – she was already lifting herself from the ground, breathless, no longer laughing.

Harry ducked behind the golden fountain again, just in time. Bellatrix's retaliating curse flew past, missing him by a few inches; it hit the head of the handsome statue, which was blown off and landed twenty feet away, gouging long slashes into the marble floor.

"Never used an Unforgivable Curse, have you, boy?" she sneered, abandoning her baby voice. "You need the desire to cause pain; righteous anger does not hurt me for long. I'll demonstrate how it's done, shall I? I'll teach you a lesson –"

She was interrupted in midsentence by a high and terrible voice that leaked into the chamber like the Black Plague. It was clear, cold and commanding. "Do not waste your time on the boy, Bella. Get the prophecy…"

"Yes, my Lord!" Bellatrix called, into the empty air. Her dark eyes landed on Harry.

"Spare your breath! He cannot hear you!" Harry yelled, grimacing at the severe pain that abruptly erupted in his scar. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes against it. It hurt so, so much… "He is not actually here. He cannot hear you!"

"Can I not, Potter?" a smooth voice, quietly.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, fearing what he would find.

Tall, slender and with a hood drawn over his head, his terrifying serpentine face white and gaunt, his cruel, crimson eyes narrowing… Lord Voldemort had materialised in the middle of the hall, his unyielding wand pointing at Harry who stood frozen, quite unable to move.

He was exactly the way Harry remembered him. Black, silk robes covering his form, skin as pale as death…

"Pleasure seeing you here, Potter," the Dark Lord murmured softly, his whisper lingering in the air eerily. "I am afraid you have wandered too far from your little friends."

It took all of his energy to straighten his back, so he could be in a dignified position. The pain in his forehead was crippling, now that his nemesis was merely a few metres away. "Pardon me if I do not say I feel the same pleasure."

"Brave boy," Voldemort said. "No wonder you were sorted into Gryffindor; you dare to defy me and then… Look me in the eye."

The order cracked sharply at Harry's agony-filled mind. He wanted to stare the monster down too, but he could not. He just could not.

"I _said_," Voldemort pronounced, more harshly, "look me in the eye. I dislike repeating myself."

Harry glanced up, but the moment his green orbs met red ones, a groundswell of excruciating anguish surged up to meet him. He immediately broke the eye contact with a stifled groan.

Chuckles arose surprisingly from the Dark Lord's throat. "Bella, look at this; Harry Potter, the saviour predicted to destroy me, cannot even endure my presence without suffering torment. How is _he_ supposed to kill _me_?"

The mad giggles of the hag joined her master's.

Harry pressed cold fingers to his temple, to massage away the headache. "Why are you here, Voldemort?" he asked, roughly.

Bellatrix let out a low hiss of warning at the blatant use of her lord's name. "Shut your mouth!" she shrieked. "You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with your half blood tongue, you dare –"

"I dare," Harry said. "Did you know he is a half-blood too? Voldemort, yeah, his mother was a witch but the father who spawned him was a 'filthy' Muggle. Didn't expect it, did you? Did he keep telling you that he's pure-blood? He –"

Voldemort raised his wand. Before Harry could register what was happening, some spell, white and searing, lashed across his cheek, setting a wave of fire blossoming across it.

"There is a fine line between bravery and foolishness, Harry."

Harry was not a complete fool. His jaws clicked shut, as he realised he was wholly at the dark wizard's mercy.

"As an answer to your previous question concerning why I am here…" the Dark Lord paused delicately. "My followers' incompetence is remarkable, so that I am forced to come personally to claim the prophecy." He extended a hand, palm facing up.

"Give it to me voluntarily, Harry, and I may reward you with a _quick_ chastisement," he said. "I know you have it."

Harry pursed his lips. "What makes you think I will just hand it over?"

"Will the fact that you wish to avoid thrashing under the Cruciatus be reason enough?" Voldemort glided towards him, like a slithering snake. "Trust me, Harry, it is in your best interest to give me the prophecy."

"It's too late now," Harry said, triumph evident in his voice. "I guess you'll have to torture me, then. Because it's gone."

"Excuse me?" The sheer menace in Voldemort's whisper made Harry shiver. "What did you say?"

"It's gone."

"So, you smashed my prophecy?" Voldemort said lightly, staring at him with those pitiless scarlet eyes. "No, Bella, he is not lying… I see the truth looking at me from within his worthless mind… months of preparation, months of effort… and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again."

"Master, I'm so sorry, I know not, I was fighting the Animagus Black! I tried, I tried – do not punish me!" sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort's feet as he paced ever closer to Harry.

"Be quiet, Bella," Voldemort commanded dangerously. "Do you think I entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your snivelling apologies?"

"No, my Lord," Bellatrix sniffed, submissively.

And the Dark Lord paid her no more attention. Harry grimaced as he shifted his attention to _him_.

"You are most irksome," Voldemort said. "You bother me with your insolence, and you hinder me with your actions, time and time again. This cannot be allowed to go on."

The tension crackled in the silence. Harry had almost forgotten to breathe.

"Though I must admit," Voldemort continued, ruthlessly, "merely taking your life will not satisfy me. I am known for my creativity; I know many methods of destroying a man."

The dark wizard's words sent a jolt of dread tearing down his spine, like electricity. "And… how do you intend to destroy me?" Harry asked, frankly. The slight quiver in his voice ruined the effect; he did not sound as indifferent as he had hoped.

Voldemort smirked, arrogantly. "That," he said silkily, "if for me to know and for you to find out."

"Torture? Pain? Starvation?" Harry tried.

"No, no, Harry, not that." The Dark Lord shook his head, in an amused manner. "Those approaches are reserved for those who… react well. You, boy, are different; you respond excellently to emotional pain."

Harry blinked.

"Yes, Bella killed your godfather and you let rage cloud your logic; you hunted her down only to be met by a greater force," Voldemort said. "Imagine the result if I bring everything, everything you have ever known, crashing down. You will see your world crumbling to dust around you; you will see me rise to power, realising you cannot stop me. You will be destroyed, on the inside."

"Voldemort," Harry snarled, "you will never win. Dumbledore will stop you."

"Dumbledore?" Voldemort's pale, colourless lips twitched upwards. "No, he is only an irritation. That timeworn old man can never hope to match my supremacy. Where is he now, Harry? Why don't you tell me? Why is your mentor not rushing to save you?"

"He…" Harry trailed off.

_"He is here." _

It was not Voldemort who had spoken, nor Bellatrix. The familiar, soothing elderly tone made Harry's eyes light up with hope. He gazed at the headmaster who had stridden in through the doorway.  
_Dumbledore had come._

If only he knew the consequences of his action, he would have never taken his eyes away from Voldemort. When Dumbledore brandished his wand in an attempt to summon Harry to his side, it was already far too late.

A startled cry escaped Harry's lips as he was yanked backward by his arm, away from Dumbledore, and into the arms of another.

He nearly screamed at the unbearable agony that shot though his entire body like a bullet; he realised, with dismay that it was the Dark Lord who was holding him securely. Coming to his senses, he struggled and thrashed against Voldemort, but judging by the scoff, the dark wizard was finding his attempts rather entertaining. Bellatrix seemed to think the same, if her laughter was anything to go by.

And then, Harry was spun around so quickly, so forcefully, that he was sure he was going to throw up. The Dark Lord tore his wand from his wand, and pinned him against his own chest so that Harry's arms were seized behind him.

"Greetings, Harry," Voldemort purred in his ear.

"Let me go!" Harry shouted. "Dumbledore!" He resisted the serpentine limbs around him, straining to wrench himself free from the iron grip.

"Tom," Dumbledore said quietly, his blue eyes sparkling with anxiety, "let the boy go. He is not responsible for any of your misgivings; your fight is with me."

The Dark Lord laughed, a horribly hollow sound that echoed through the hall, bouncing off the walls.

As if encouraged by the man's words, Harry's attempts grew more violent and desperate. Unfortunately, it did not sit well with Voldemort.

For a moment, it seemed as though the wizard had run out of patience. Hissing ominously low, he grasped the boy's wrists so strictly that Harry could not prevent a scream from ripping past his unwilling lips. His actions ceased instinctively for a second.

"Good boy," Voldemort whispered, loosening his clasp just the slightest bit.

Harry allowed himself to deceivingly sag, wilting like a withered bloom into the Dark Lord's clutch. Almost instantly, Lord Voldemort seemed to think Harry had given up and lightened his former vice-like grip.

Harry chose that moment to pick up where he had left off. With one mighty jerk, he twisted away from the restraining arms and ran.

He did not make it far.

He was dragged back by enraged tentacles of Voldemort's magic and dumped, unceremoniously, once again, in the wizard's embrace. This time, the arms wound so brutally around his body that he choked.

Voldemort did not relent. He applied pressure to Harry's middle until the boy was gagging under the lack of oxygen, eyes widening desperately.

Harry knew if he survived this, which he doubted, his waist would endure severe bruising in the morning.

"End this nonsense at once, or I will not hesitate to break your fingers," Voldemort warned, shaking him harshly.

"Tom," Dumbledore protested, raising his wand, "violence is not necessary."

"Perhaps not in your world, Dumbledore, but it is essential in mine."

"Harry has nothing to do with it. Please, Tom, let him go," the headmaster continued. "It was foolish to come here tonight. The Aurors are on their way –"

"By which time I shall be gone, and you shall be dead," Voldemort finished calmly. He sent a killing curse whirling throw the air towards Dumbledore. Harry cried out a word of caution, but it was not needed.

A centaur statue, guided by the old wizard's wand, galloped in front of Dumbledore and took the blast, shattering into a hundred pieces, but before the fragments had even hit the floor, Dumbledore had drawn back his wand and waved it as though brandishing a whip. A long thin flame flew from the tip and –

"Think carefully, old man," Voldemort said coldly, positioning Harry dead centre in front of him like a shield. "If you attack, it will be your precious student who bears the blow. Would you like that?"

The hovering flame had stopped in mid-air. It flickered once, and went out.

The smile that weaved across Voldemort's sharp features was as icy as the Artic wind. "I thought not." He calmly waved his wand again, and summoned a ginormous serpent, which turned upon Dumbledore, hissing furiously.

The snake struck. Dumbledore wielded his wand in one long, fluid movement – the snake, which had been an instant from sinking its fangs into him, flew high into the air and vanished in a wisp of dark smoke.

"Professor!" Harry exclaimed. "Fight him! Why are you not –?"

"My boy, he has you."

"It doesn't matter, Professor!" Harry yelled. "It doesn't matter if it gets me; you can't just stand there and take his strikes!"

Voldemort inclined his head victoriously. "Such remarkably brave words. Sounds exactly like the foolish thing a Gryffindor would say."

Harry gave a feral snarl.

"Still… we have dawdled enough, won't you agree?" Voldemort said. "Before Dumbledore arrived, we were talking about how I was going get rid of you. I do think it is time I showed you."

Dumbledore leapt forward, blue eyes widening in alarm at the indicative comment.

The Dark Lord pressed his wand to Harry's temple and uttered, _"Animal aeternum."_

Harry experienced a sensation he had never known before. It begun as an itch behind his ear, before it was roaring across his whole body. His muscles ached unbelievably; he felt as if his bones were stretching and shrinking all in the space of a few seconds.

And then… as soon as it came, it was gone.

Harry felt a strain on his neck, and he tried to twist around to see what it was. He found that he couldn't. Whoever was holding him was strong beyond what was humanly possible.

"Tom, what have you done?"

He heard Dumbledore's clear voice. For the first time, the old headmaster truly sounded frightened. He could not see why – apart from the obvious fact that Voldemort was present.

He was uncomfortable, hearing Dumbledore sound so worried.  
_"I'm fine, Professor."_ At least that was what he _wanted_ to say. What actually passed his lips instead was a pitiful meowing noise.

It gave him a disturbed feeling. Something was wrong, he could tell. The hall – it was bigger than it had been, it was _too_ big.

And when he gazed down, he realised that he was hanging. He was a long distance from the marble floor.

_"What is going on?"_ What was supposed to be a demand for answers came out as another soft _meow_.

Cruel laughter came from the Dark Lord.

Then, Harry felt himself being hoisted upwards and placed on something silky. Argh – it was the fabric of Voldemort's robes. Unwillingly, he found himself balancing on the curve of the evil wizard's arm.

He was so small.

And, abruptly, it struck him. He was a cat.

It was all Voldemort's fault.

On impulse, his back arched threateningly, and his skin – or was it fur? – puffed up. His mouth widened to reveal a well equipped set of sharp teeth. He did not hesitate to dig them deep into the skin of the Dark Lord.

Lord Voldemort gave no hint he was hurt, but before Harry knew it, he had been swiped cuttingly across the head, and was tumbling in a free fall from the Dark Lord's arm to the floor.

Naturally, somehow, he managed to land on his two – or perhaps four – feet. When he looked up, a wand was pointed in his face.

_"Retro in tempus,"_ Voldemort said.

Everything went black.

—0O0—

When he awoke, the first awareness was that of fondling fingers caressing the fur on the back of his neck.

"Cygnus, you should throw it out before it bites you," a male voice said. "It looks like it's got rabies."

Harry blinked a few times, eyes widening as he took in the vast bedroom and the high ceiling. He had not the faintest idea where he was.

"Rabies? I doubt it. I bet you just want him for yourself!" Cygnus retorted. "Besides, I like his fur. I haven't seen anything like it."

Someone sighed in exasperation. "I assure you, I have no intention of adopting the beast myself. Did you happen to notice the dirt on its tail?"

"Abraxas, you are _so_ precious," Cygnus said. "If I do not mind dirt in my own home, no one else should."

"Tom hates filthy creatures."

Cygnus sobered. "Do you think he'll mind?"

Harry fixed his eyes on the second, flaxen boy who had been called Abraxas. "You will not know until you show him your new pet," Abraxas said smoothly, his expression that of arrogance. "As a word of warning, do not let your cat get to close. He might decide he dislikes it so much that he should kill it."

Cygnus glared, before reaching down for Harry again. "What should we call him?"

Abraxas laughed disdainfully. "You want to name the little beast?"

"Urgh, shut up!"

Just then, the bedroom door slowly creaked open, and a slender figure stepped inside, posture full of authority. "Name what beast?" His voice was velvety, charismatic, and rich with power.

His eyes were the shade of a taciturn blue, cruel and indifferent. His lips were petals of splendour, petals which would lose their colour in a few decades' time. The ebony curls were neatly arranged, professional and not in an atypical style.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, future Dark Lord, glided forward until he was looming directly above the cat.

Harry stared incredulously at the young teenager, and mentally cursed Voldemort. He held himself back from attacking the young man, but when the smooth, pale hand reached down to pet him, he panicked.

He lunged forward, straight as an arrow, and sprung on Riddle's arm. His claws shot out, and he sank all ten of them into the flesh, drawing blood.

Riddle yelped in surprise, shoved him away and stepped hastily back.

Cygnus was looking immensely uneasy, with an expression close to that of fear. "Oh, uh, sorry, Tom," he stuttered. "The cat is not used to having human company, I guess. I'm so sorry. Oh, look, your arm is bleeding so badly."

The teenage Dark Lord glowered at Harry, gaze darkening like a thundercloud.

After the three boys left the room to "lock the beast by itself" as Abraxas said, Harry buried his head into his paws in weariness.

_This was a nightmare._

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_**Was that to your expectations? More to come!**_


	2. Handsome Devil

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. **

**New chapter for you gorgeous people! Take your time reading it, as I did writing it. Reviews are welcome!**

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He rested on a lavish cushion with his paws folded neatly beneath him, soothed by the warmth sweeping from the elegant stone mantel fireplace. He observed the tamed fire curiously, watching as it licked hungrily at the wood while pirouetting to the tune of singing crackles. Even without the awkward glasses, he had flawless eyesight, taking in every precise detail.

_He was a cat. _

It was, perhaps, unsurprising that felines had admirable vision. Thank heaven for small favours; at least he would not stagger in the already vulnerable body due to lack of eyesight. Harry sighed inwardly.

It was almost impossible to accept that he was a puss. A year ago, if anyone had told him that he would end up as a wild animal and completely at the mercy of a teenage Dark Lord, he would have scoffed in their faces.

Unconsciously, his tail swished out and twitched restlessly.

Thoughts drifted around, alarmingly, in his mind; different theories on where he was. Harry wondered whether Voldemort had sent him on a journey of fake reality or if his current circumstances were something else entirely.

An animalistic growl rose from the back of his throat as he focused his hatred on the dark wizard who had, in a moment of sick humour, pulled some kind of twisted joke.

Harry had been rendered helpless. Although he had not lost the understanding of human language, he could only speak in hisses and meows. Voldemort had also taken his valuable wand; Harry was exposed to numerous dangers, the most impending one of them being Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He was frail, weak and powerless.

He curled up into a tighter ball of fur.

In the foreseeable future, he would remain a member of the cat family – and for all he knew, he could be spending the rest of his life as a worthless _cat_, unable to fend for himself. And maybe – _argh, he wished he did not have to think about it _– he would even become a _pet_.

He deliberated on his next actions, weighing up the available options. As much as he wanted to, he knew it was best not to slash more wounds into Riddle. After all, he could not risk blowing his cover of a cat in front of his future nemesis… And besides, he would practically be signing his own death warrant if he made a habit out of hurting the young Slytherin Heir.

It could be his fortune that he had been discovered by Cygnus. The youthful boy was developing an attachment with him, one that Harry would wisely encourage if he wished to avoid being hurled onto the streets.

Otherwise, Harry could well have been skinned by Tom Riddle and strung up with his tail nailed to the wall. The young Dark Lord had been furious at the assault, if the low, menacing murmurs were anything to go by. Cygnus had all but begged the powerful Slytherin to pardon the cat.

Riddle had not made an effort to harm him out of vengeance…yet, but Harry was aware he had already gotten on the bad side of the Slytherin.

Old habits, especially those of revulsion towards the Dark Lord, died hard and Harry was ever so tempted to claw at the adolescent but he _had_ to control himself if he wanted to live. Now was neither the place nor time to draw extra attention; for the time being, he had to lie low and play the part Cygnus expected from him. Later, he would find the opportune moment to act.

All of a sudden, the door swung open with a loud creak, startling Harry from his thoughts. He sprung up just in time to see Cygnus, Abraxas, Riddle and an unknown boy step into the room. Quelling his initial instincts, which urged him to attack with aggression, Harry flexed his tail and settled down again.

The four teenage males paid no more mind to Harry other than sparing a few glances in his direction. He, however, surveyed them vigilantly as Riddle, along with the other three, sank into respective couches facing the fireplace.

"Tom, what do you think of today?" The nameless boy leaned back and entwined his fingers casually. "Wasn't that thrilling, seeing the Stonewall Stormers and the Kenmare Kestrels in action?"

A tight smile weaved its way onto Riddle's sharp features. "I enjoyed it," he said simply.

"Orion, you should know by now that Tom does not take as much fascination in Quidditch as he does his volumes of books," Abraxas remarked smartly. "He lives up to his title as Hogwarts' shining model students."

Cygnus let out a chuckle. "True," he agreed. "Tom has already been chosen as Prefect. I can bet he'll gain the Head Boy position before the final year."

"He steals the show," Orion added cheerfully. "The professors display blatant favouritism towards their star Slytherin. You know, Tom, I thought our dear Slughorn was going to burst into tears when you were leaving for the holidays. Absolutely shocking."

"He will recover," Tom said airily.

"Yes," Abraxas said, "when you go back at the end of the summer holidays, he'll start drooling over you again."

Riddle sneered derisively. "It is not my fault the man is unable to control his saliva."

The Slytherins erupted into laughter, as if what the young Dark Lord had said was extremely funny. Oddly enough, Harry did not see the humour in his malicious statement.

"Fortunately, Slughorn is infatuated with his crystallised pineapples. I need only gift him a container and he will leave me alone to slobber over _them_."

Tom Riddle nearly smiled as the others laughed again. Harry noted that he was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but that they all seemed to look at him as their leader. The hierarchy was evident.

"It is not only Slughorn," Cygnus said, with a hint of envy. "You attract the girls like a magnet; they gravitate toward you."

"You are blessed, Black," Tom replied dryly. "The beautiful and wealthy ones from influential backgrounds are barely tolerable, let alone the _pimply_ ones. At times it can be a nuisance to have them lusting after you like a pack of female dogs in heat."

Harry gaped at Cygnus. 'Black' Riddle had said. _Cygnus Black? What the dark haired boy truly a Black? Was he related to Sirius?_ He felt a pang in his heart as he thought of his godfather.

"Cygnus' sister, Orion's cousin, also hankers after Tom," Abraxas said smoothly, in a smug tone intended to stir emotions. "Walburga Black has become very famous in the gossip circles when it comes to speaking openly of her potential suitors."

"My sister is a ridiculous fool," Cygnus said, while Orion protested loudly, "Walburga is only a distant cousin of mine. Her engagements should not reflect on me."

"Walburga is your _second_ cousin," Abraxas corrected. "She can hardly be counted as distant."

Riddle sighed heavily.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted, so abruptly that Harry almost dared not breathe. The talkative mood had been tainted, darkened by the Slytherin Heir's small gesture of dissatisfaction.

"Tom?" Cygnus ventured cautiously.

"Learn to handle your sister," he said quietly. "In the meantime, we can switch the subject to something less arduous than my admirers."

"Naturally," Abraxas murmured.

"Mother suggests we go to Diagon Alley tomorrow to purchase our school gears," Cygnus said. "Orion and I need new robes and all. Tom, what do you think?"

"It sounds suitable."

"I have been promised an Eagle Owl," Orion said, "since my old one died. Cygnus has been begging for a snake… but it seems as if he will not require one… he has fallen in love with the ratty cat."

"I have not!"

"Merlin knows why," Abraxas commented. "The cat is feral and unintelligent."

Riddle tilted his head. "I daresay the cat is not completely incompetent, after all, it has managed to mark me when many _humans_ have failed."

"Come here, Cat," Abraxas called mockingly.

Harry gazed evenly at them and wondered whether he could provide them with a night of entertainment. It appeared the group would be going to Hogwarts soon… if only he could make Cygnus take him along. Then, he could find Dumbledore.

He got up and padded silently towards Abraxas, much to the Slytherin's astonishment. There, he planted himself on his hindquarters.

"Very obedient." Tom Riddle expressed his amusement.

Cygnus looked delighted.

"I trust you will not scratch me a second time…" With that, Riddle reached down and pulled Harry harshly up by the front leg.

An automatic, long cry of pain broke out from his throat. He was dangling above ground while the young Dark Lord granted him a cruel smile. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cygnus Black panicking.

Just when he thought his arms would be tugged from his sockets, Riddle lowered him onto his lap.

Immediately, Harry made to leap off, only to be restrained by a cold hand on the scruff of his neck. "Stay, Cat," Riddle tutted.

Harry hissed, and dug his claws warningly into the Slytherin's knee with not quite enough force to cause severe pain.

"Feisty little creature," Riddle remarked icily. "Maybe we can break you in."  
As he said this, he strengthened his smothering hold on Harry, fingers jabbing in his ribs.

In return, Harry squirmed. When the temptation to twist his head around and plunge the sharp ends of his teeth into Riddle's slender hands became too hard to fight, he started to chant in his mind_, "Do not struggle. Voldemort is not worth it, Voldemort is not worth it, Voldemort is not _worth_ it!"_

"It is cute, isn't it?" Riddle asked Cygnus, who blanched and looked sick. "I cannot help but get the compulsion to squish its face until it pops."

"Tom," Cygnus begun hesitantly, "may I please have him?"

When Riddle raised his stony eyes dangerously, Cygnus flinched. "What is the problem?" Tom said softly, coolly challenging the other boy's resolve. "Surely you have heard of the phrase 'sharing is caring'?"

"Yes, Tom, I –"

"I beg your pardon, Black," Tom said, mockingly. "Of course you may have your kitten back. Watch out that it does not bite."

In the next second, Harry was bowled over and flung from the Slytherin's lap. With a natural aptitude for balance, he landed like a dream on his four feet, relieved at loss of physical contact with the future Dark Lord. However, his left paw throbbed from where it had been strained.

_God, he loathed being a cat._

"Tom, I apologise," Cygnus said urgently. "I did not mean for it to come out that way – truly –!"

"Oh, I know, Cygnus," Tom reassured, voice velvety. "I know precisely what you meant to say, do not fret."

Abraxas and Orion shared nervous glances.

_It seemed, _Harry thought_, that he had not yet discovered the real nature of Tom Marvolo Riddle. _

In his Second Year, he had met another version of Riddle. The older boy, who had once seemed kind, considerate, approachable while conversing with Harry in the diary revealed his true colours in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry's initial drawn conclusions had been shattered in the space of merely a fraction of a second.

He would never have known the boy was a young Lord Voldemort if the words had not slipped mercilessly past the teenager's own lips.

This was how successfully deceitful the other was – a cold-hearted, lying viper who had manipulated Ginny as though she was a marionette.

_There were still multiple, distinct differences between this Tom and the later Lord Voldemort_, Harry noticed.

Riddle was admired amongst his Slytherin circles, that was for sure. Harry could see the way the other boys leaned towards Tom subconsciously while he engaged them in clever talk. There was a mixture of respect and fear in the style they treated him, with more of the latter.

And judging by the conversations Harry had heard, it appeared Riddle was also all the rage in the female population of Hogwarts.

Even worse, Riddle seemed to have all the professors wrapped around his little pinkie with minimum amount of effort on his part.

Harry was beginning to figure the current circumstances for himself… And his discoveries begged the question: _what sort of a devil _was_ Tom Marvolo Riddle?_

Handsome, charming, full of intellect… and with a heart of ice…and a mind as sane as anything; quite the opposite of Voldemort.

Dread was starting to arise within Harry as he reflected what he had on his hands. He was in more peril than ever.

Riddle was more than meets the eye… and it did not bode well for Harry. By this time, Tom had built his kingdom and carved his path. He was like the plague that had wiped out more than half of Europe, eternal and spreading and continuous until he destroyed himself; he would take hundreds of innocents with him.

Harry closed his eyes. _What sort of monster are you, Tom Riddle?_


	3. Train Tale

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The last weeks passed painstakingly slowly, moving by inch by inch at a snail's pace, all but driving him insane. Riddle and his thrice damned cronies left him alone most of the day, for which he was thankful, but he never lost the temptation to claw them.

However, he had endured everything, and the moment he awaited had finally arrived… and he knew precisely when he would put his plan to the test.

But, dear Merlin, he detested being in a cage.

The bars pressed upon him in so tight a manner that he felt marginally claustrophobic. Couple _that_ with the swaying and the tilting and the unending rocking, Harry thought it was safe to say he was about to be sick.

He hated his current predicament…

Faintly in his mind, he wondered whether cats, _real_ cats, were nauseous while they were carried by their eager masters who paid them no consideration in the excitement of returning to school from a lengthy holiday.

If so, he pitied them more by the minute…

… especially when Cygnus Black clambered up the steps on the Hogwarts Express, flinging his arm out to maintain his balance and Harry consequently flew headfirst into the bars.

_"Meow!"_

Cygnus glanced down, peering at him in concern. "Oops, my bad…"

"Black, get a move on," Abraxas Malfoy called pompously from ahead, "if you do not want to share a compartment with the first years, that is. Lestrange, Nott and everybody else is waiting for us."

A tremor of anger ran through his fur, and Harry stiffened rigidly at the familiarity of the notorious last names. In his mind, they would always be associated with the definition of danger and Voldemort.

Nott… Lestrange… If Harry had fists, he would have clenched them. Bellatrix Lestrange. He hoped she would burn in the depths of hell; it was the least she deserved for killing Sirius.

It was unbelievable… utterly appalling. _Riddle surrounded himself with bloodthirsty baby Death Eaters already, when he was merely a student at the age of fifteen? God, talk about being twisted… _

Harry gave his head a clearing shake. Was he doomed to fight Death Eaters forever, no matter what kind of cruel manipulations fate threw at him?

He wished he could take a break from being the Boy Who Lived.

For the moment though, his main concern was remaining quiet, refraining from making a fuss, and playing to his role of the unintelligent feline he was presumed to be…

It was supposed to be easy.

**...**

As it turned out, the Slytherins weren't fast enough in getting a compartment all to themselves – but of course, they had to have the best of everything and sharing with first year students was definitely out of the question.

That left only one alternative.

Harry perched in his cage, soft fur bristling and lips drawing back as he observed the exchange from the safety of the enclosure.

It was pathetic, really, he decided; no more respectable than bullying someone smaller and weaker.

That was what the Death Eaters were.

Bullying toe-rags.

A motley collection of despicable garbage; made up of some who were ambitious and seeking shared glory, and the thuggish that gravitated towards a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty.

Either way, Harry was sick of every one of them.

Abraxas Malfoy stood imperiously in the middle of the little Death Eater group, facing a compartment of unwitting first years, looking as though he was going to launch a most important lecture.

His blonde hair, slick and elegant, was groomed back in the latest fashion; lying flatly on his scalp after hours of peacock-like preening. Harry wanted to gag.

Directly next to his right was Orion Black and Randolph Lestrange, whose name Harry had effortlessly picked up from their conversations.

The boy appeared slightly older than Riddle. A sixth year, perhaps? His thick, dark eyebrows dipped menacingly with each twitch of his thin lips.

Beside Lestrange were Dorian Nott and Darius Avery.

The gleeful glint in Nott's narrowed eyes set off alarm bells in Harry's head – and he found himself unnerved by exactly why the lanky teen was capable of. Torture, most likely, considering his involvement with Riddle, the model student.

Avery, on the other hand, made a rather poor picture compared to the rest. Like Cygnus, he leaned marginally towards the back of the cluster, with an expression of gormless incompetence written all over his pale face.

He reminded Harry startlingly of Vincent Crabbe.

And then, there were the final two members of the gang: Fabian Rosier and Bryon Mulciber.

They traded smirks, the way a pair of sharks might before they devoured their prey; looking on with ill-disguised interest as Malfoy addressed his younger audience in a self-aggrandizing way.

"Lo and behold, who should we have here but a bunch of first years?" Abraxas accompanied his delivery with a disgusted curl of the lip.

Small heads snapped round to stare incredulously at the new visitor, and one of the boys seemed to take offense at the rudeness. "I didn't hear you knock," he said, accusingly.

The future Death Eaters chuckled in unison, openly mocking the childish ignorance of the boy, sparing no feelings.

It was a harsh sound, sarcastic and unfriendly, grinding on Harry's ears, and he let out a doglike growl.

"I think that would be obvious," Nott said pointedly, "since we did not see any need to grace worthless, snivelling little mice with common courtesy."

"Yeah." Lestrange bared his teeth in a hybrid of a smile and a snarl…

Harry shuddered at the sheer viciousness of the group. They were like a pack of savage wolves, ripping down prey without hesitance, those weaker than themselves. Brutes. Barbarians. Beasts. With no regard for others.

A girl, blonde hair falls in curls around her cheeks, glared intensely at the older Slytherins and tugged on the sleeve of the boy, who appeared like he was about to explode. "Shut up, Zack, they're not worth it," she hissed.

Mulciber glanced at them in plain irritation.

"Clear out," Lestrange bluntly informed. "In case your pea of a brain could not comprehend, this compartment belongs to _us_. We sit in here year after year – and the record is not about to be broken by… _you_."

"Yours, eh?" the first year boy retorted. "The seats don't have your names on them. Wanna take a look for yourself?" Scornfully, he pretended to look down and inspect the bottom of the seats, and then shook his head hard. "Nope; don't see nothing."

"You insolent little –"

"Hey!" the girl had stood up, her petite hands on hips. "Don't throw names around! We do not want any trouble, so just leave us alone."

"Get out of here," Lestrange growled.

"No."

"Get out now –!"

"We already said _no!_"

In the split of a second, the wands came out, snapping from under the sleeves of the dark robes that each of the Slytherin boys donned.

The scene was truly intimidating.

Eight teenage boys, eyes narrowed threateningly, lips parted to reveal their teeth, eager to teach the young a memorable lesson, raised their wands simultaneously. Even Cygnus joined in, not keen to be the odd one out.

"Then, I suppose, we'll have to get rid of you ourselves," Lestrange sneered. "I don't mind getting my hands dirty. It will be short work; I take it you have no useful spells stored in those thick noggins of yours?"

Rosier snorted in abhorrence. "Of course they haven't, Randolph. They're silly little _Mudbloods_, or can't you tell?"

"We'll curse the movement out of their limbs –"

A suffocating, intense, dark and utterly _seductive_ force had merged with the atmosphere, wafting to fill the space of the compartment. Harry almost choked. All the child Death Eaters stopped dead in their tracks.

"You will do no such thing."

Malfoy spun around, eyes widening as he took in the sight of his lord looming in the doorway, arms across his chest and wand twirling casually in one hand, between the index and middle finger.

"Tom –"

"This is highly inappropriate, Malfoy, Mulciber, Avery, Lestrange, Nott, Rosier, Black, and Black." As Riddle went through each of their names, sharpness piercing every syllable, they flinched in turn.

Harry was shocked.

Of all the people, he had not expected _Riddle_ to leap in as the saviour.

"I go to the Prefects Compartment for five minutes, a mere five minutes, and I see my own snakes misbehaving and frightening our newest students… I confess myself disappointed," Tom sounded positively dangerous as he addressed them.

"But –"

_"Silence!"_ Riddle snapped. "Fighting over a ridiculous compartment is not the acceptable conduct of Slytherin, so tidy up your actions! I do not want to see anything similar happening again in the near future."

_'Or someone will pay' _hung unpromisingly in the air.

"Naturally," Riddle peered sternly at Malfoy, "I will be reporting your delinquency to Professor Slughorn, and I _cringe_ to think that you have earned yourselves detentions before the first term has even started!"

Next, he twisted around apologetically to the two first year students, features schooled into an expression of compassion, concern, sheepishness and a genius dose of annoyance.

"Forgive me," he said, tone light, "for the appalling beginning of your school year. However, I hope you will remain open-minded to what Hogwarts has to offer and I assure you that you will not be dissatisfied. Good luck at the sorting, and I'm sure I'll see one of you at the Slytherin table tonight."

The boy still looked uneasy, but the girl immediately seemed to warm to Tom.

"Thank you," she blurted. "I'm sorry about the misunderstanding."

"I'm sure that my acquaintances too are sorry," Tom replied. "If all is well, we will leave you in peace…"

"Oh," the girl exclaimed in a sudden fit of generosity, "you can have it, if you want. I'm sure we can find other seats somewhere else."

"Goodness." Tom laughed softly. "Are you quite sure?"

**... **

"You dimwits."

"We're sorry, Tom."

"You should be." Riddle's face was practically a storm cloud, his features in stark contrast to the sunshine that streamed through the windows. "Do you suppose you can go around bullying students and expect the professors to be oblivious?"

Harry observed the scene from his cage, taking in everything.

"Of course not, but they cannot pin anything grave on us," Malfoy pacified.

"Small droplets build up to great oceans," Tom said grimly. "Either you idiots can grow a brain to share between you, or I will correct your behaviours myself."

"We understand, Tom –"

"I will not walk around tidying up your messes," Riddle interrupted. "You cannot continue like this, especially with Dumbledore, the old codger, keeping such a tight eye on me this year."

"Naturally…"

"If you drag me down with you, I will torture you to the brink of life and bring you back to do it again," Tom responded – and Harry couldn't tell whether he was serious or not.

Not that Harry would stick around long enough to know.

Once the train arrived at Hogwarts, he planned on escaping his damned cage and finding Dumbledore…

After that… he would be one step closer to finding his way home.

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	4. Riddles and Mysteries

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It was in the chaos, noisy clatters, shuffling feet and clamour on the front steps leading to Hogwarts Castle that Harry decided to make his escape. None of the Slytherins in Riddle's gang was paying him any attention, and so he seized the opportunity.

He had been working his claw on the lock dangling on the outside of his cage and managed to unlock it after a few moments of sweaty effort. It had not been secured with a padlock, and thus, was not _too_ hard to unbolt.

Harry surveyed his environment, decided he did not like what he saw, but still made a terrifying leap from the cage and onto the next concrete step, narrowly avoiding being trampled by the stomping shoes.

Behind him, Cygnus seemed to have noticed the lack of weight in his left hand.

One glance backwards told Harry that he'd better hurry if he wished to elude capture, for the Black was already tossing desperate looks around him.

"Leave the beast be. I'd like to see it try to survive on its own," Abraxas said, loud enough for Harry's ears to pick up.

And then Riddle had icily added, "You'll get time to look for it later, Black. We are attracting attention… and blocking the stairs. Come along."

Now that the Slytherin Heir had issued his command, Harry hoped that Cygnus would abandon the thought of searching for him. In a way, Tom Riddle had done him a favour without intending to.

Amidst the confusion, Harry slinked up the rest of the steps, using the bodies of other students to shield him from sight, before slipping quietly into the castle.

Optimism was starting to arise in his chest.

If only he could just get to Dumbledore before the Welcoming Feast…

He moved quietly into the shadow of one of the armours, green eyes wide and alert, observing the group of Slytherin as they made their way into the Great Hall.

Riddle had a rather blank expression, but Harry guessed he was a tad irritated, no doubt at the spectacle that Cygnus had managed to singlehandedly create. Though he was not known to be an excellent judge of character, he somehow instinctively knew that Riddle hated unnecessary attention.

As the footsteps slowly ceased, Harry gained enough daring to emerge into the light.

To his relief, the corridors were empty.

With the exception of the school ghost, Fat Friar. The smoky outline was thrown into relief by the flickering torches along the sides of the walls.

Harry started when the ghost drifted towards him, giving him his undivided attention. The Fat Friar extended a sociable hand. "Hullo," the Hufflepuff ghost said pleasantly. "Are you lost? Do you belong to one of the students?"

Harry wondered how on earth he was expected to reply.

At least the ghost seemed friendly enough.

Figuring that he had nothing to loose, Harry gazed at the thick dust on the floor, and was struck by a genius idea.

He put one black paw forward, pressed it to the dust and moved it in the jagged shape of a 'W', and then to the curiosity of the ghost, began to write an 'H'… Before long, cursive letters had formed three distinctive words on the floor:

_'Where is Dumbledore?'_

The Fat Friar regarded him in a manner of astounded silence, and looked back at the letters. "My word," he exclaimed, "you are one intelligent cat."

Harry smirked inwardly.

"I won't ask you how you came upon our Transfiguration professor's name, but I can tell you that he is on his way to the Welcoming Feast with Headmaster Dippet," the Fat Friar supplied helpfully.

Harry dipped his head in gratitude and rushed off in the direction of the moving staircases, before the ghost had time to fully acknowledge the intelligence of the cat.

Still, Harry supposed that the ghost must have seen enough weird comings and goings in his lifetime for him not to be too surprised at an animal that was capable of writing.

As he tore down the path Dumbledore probably was walking, his mind was spinning crazily like a broken clockwork system.

He deliberated on how he should make Dumbledore understand that he was transformed into a black cat by the darkest wizard of all time, how an older version of himself had failed to rescue Harry, and most importantly, how Tom Riddle was a Dark Lord in the rising.

It all sounded terribly ridiculous in his mind, but he had no time to ponder when he barged headfirst into the old man's leg, receiving an inquisitive and a twinkle in the eye for his antics while Harry tumbled head over heels, collapsing at his foot.

"What a pleasant surprise," Dumbledore remarked. "Your master must be incredibly anxious for your wellbeing."

Harry waved his paws in the air, struggling to make him comprehend that he was _not_ a damned _animal_ and he did _not_ belong to a damned _master_.

He did everything he knew a normal cat would never have done, ranging from rolling childishly on the ground to nipping and pulling at the legs of Dumbledore's trousers.

He earned a soft, delighted chuckle for his effort, and Dumbledore reached down to safely cushion him in his arms.

"You little mischievous ball of fur, you ought to come with me to the Feast," Dumbledore said. "We'll introduce you to the staff, and it will be the perfect chance for your master to step forward and claim you."

Merlin, Harry felt like groaning.

The last thing he wished to do was to appear at the staff table and catch the full attention of Riddle and Cygnus again.

He was embittered towards Dumbledore.

Sure, the man was treating and speaking to him like he was human, which he _was_, but Harry would not put it past the old man to talk to _animals_ in the same carefree, amiable way.

Soon he would fall back into the clutches of Cygnus and he would return to be at the mercy of the future Dark Lord. Now, he could only marvel at the cruelty of fate and the young version of Dumbledore whose cheerful laughter was beginning to grate on his nerves.

His entire body sagged limply in Dumbledore's hold, and he pulled his pair cynical eyes to meet those blue sparkling ones and levelled a lethal _glare_ at them.

He detested his life.

**...**

As Tom sat amongst the snickering horde of his 'friends', he could not help but sneer at the gloomy expression drawn on the face of the youngest member of the esteemed Black family. It was laughable, in his eyes.

All this sadness… and over what?

A bloody cat.

A bloody cat that had flashed his claws within the first second of seeing Tom and towed the shining points of the claws down the side of his arm. First time any animal had actually injured him, really.

Tom's lips twisted into a humourless smile.

He still bore the marks.

Despite the wretched creature only being a mere cat, it had utterly no preservation instinct, because Tom liked to think he could install a sense of fear even in animals. It was true. They all impulsively avoided him. Except for snakes.

Abraxas Malfoy nudged him with an elbow.

"Hey, Tom," he said, "where do you think the old codger is? He should be here by now. Look at Dippet, he's practically sweating; looks like he is thinking about getting started without Dumbledore."

And so he was. The pitiable excuse of a headmaster had downed his entire glass of water and was pouring himself another drink while simultaneously fidgeting restlessly with his sleeves.  
It was amazing the glass had not been knocked over yet.

"There are several possibilities," Tom began in a silky tone, and almost immediately, the full interest of the Slytherin table was directed at him. "The first is that he tripped over his beard on his way here."

Those Slytherins who surrounded him howled with appreciative laughter, before subduing to allow him to continue.

"And the second is that –"

He had not finished when said Dumbledore arrived on the scene with a spring to his step and an infuriating twinkle in his eye. His hands, however, were what drew Tom. They were cupping the small, but distinguishing shape, of a cat.

"Dumbledore's found our little critter," Dorian Nott said.

Cygnus Black visibly perked up.

Pathetic.

The cat, nestled in Dumbledore's arms, turned its head and stared perceptibly in the direction of the Slytherin table with that pair of chilling green eyes which, Tom noted duly, were the perfect shade of the Killing Curse.

Once the cat landed its sight on the sea of green school robes, it dragged its eyes along the table determinedly, as though it was seeking something… or _someone_…

Tom felt a jolt of unrest when the eyes came to a stop on him, and clung to the side of his face like daggers. And then, if it was even possible, the cat narrowed its eyes the way he would imagine a human might.

It sent a shiver of excitement running down his spine.

When Dumbledore asked if anyone was missing a cat, when Cygnus rose quickly from his seat to retrieve his beloved pet, and even when the beast was carried to the Slytherin table, never once did Tom look away.

It was too… interesting…

"Congratulations, Cygnus," Tom said, and the only sign he was being sarcastic was the mocking glint in his eye. "There will be no need for suicide after all."

Cygnus flushed, reddening like a tomato while the other Slytherins enclosed him with jeers, sniggers and malicious remarks.

The cat, almost as if it knew it was being talked of, swerved its ears sharply in Tom's general direction, and _glared fiercely_. If cats could have expressions, then this one was sure to be scowling.

The Slytherin Heir was momentarily taken aback, but his posture spoke of nothing except amusement coupled with a trace of slight disdain. "Cygnus," he said smoothly, "I _do_ adore cats, especially black ones. If you can bear to part with him, may I…?"

Cygnus got the hint.

"Of course, Tom," he said quietly.

Black was reluctant but he handed the cat over obediently. If anything the cat looked even _more_ reluctant than its master at being handed over.

The second the cat touched his knee, Tom felt the back arching underneath his hand in the characteristic cautionary behaviour. The cat was rigid as a plank, stiff, tense.

As far as Tom knew, he had not given any reason for the creature to act so hostile. Except for the one time when he pulled the cat up by its foreleg. _That_ might have hurt, but he doubted cats had memories that extended that long.

Something was off.

The cat was too remarkably… humanlike...

There was no other ways to describe it. Each move, each twitch of the whiskers suggested it was responding to something it had heard. With each gesture, the cat behaved as though it understood their conversations.

Tom was completely entranced.

It was too strange.

And it happened too often for it to be a coincidence.

There was something _wrong_ with the animal…

And he was _resolute_ on finding everything out.

Tom's eyes hardened.

He liked mysteries, not just uncovering them but the whole process leading up to the discovery. He enjoyed the thrill of the chase for answers.

Each of the Slytherins had their own deep dark secrets. He had unearthed every one of them and used them to his advantage.  
This cat would be no different.

He scratched the cat behind its ears.

No reaction. No purring, no playful licking. It stayed as still as a statue.

**... **

Harry became rigid as the Slytherin Heir moved a finger through his fur. He tensed at the touch and barely supressed a flinch.

The circumstances were too hellish to even accept, too strange to what he was used to.

Tom Riddle, the devil with an angel's face, the rising Dark Lord, the model student, was stroking his ears like Harry was a stuffed toy instead of the boy who was destined to kill him… Not that Riddle knew, of course.

There were just so many things wrong with his current situation that Harry wished he could dig a hole and bury himself in it.

Besides, he already had a new problem.

If Riddle's constant stares were anything to go by, Harry had an idea that Riddle was developing suspicions and catching up with him.

Oh, Merlin, he _needed_ to lie low.

Bottom line: damn Riddle and his cronies to hell.


End file.
